


Intrusive

by plingo_kat



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, F/M, Gen, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 03:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plingo_kat/pseuds/plingo_kat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orgasms turn his brain off for a short time; the physical relaxation is just a bonus. It doesn’t always lull him to sleep but it usually makes the process significantly easier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intrusive

**Author's Note:**

> [Prompt:](http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/1375.html?thread=2143#cmt2143) Will spends so much of his time wandering through the minds of serial killers that it bleeds into his own psyche. He doesn't want to feel what they do, but it's hard these days not to associate the pale curve of a woman's throat with the knife that would cut it, or the red of a lover's lipstick with the blood that might spill from her lips.
> 
> Write me something where Will is trying to get himself off, but things keep slipping in that he doesn't mean for. ~~He ends up coming to the thought of something super perverse and horrifying, and it feels so much more wrong that it was so very satisfying.~~

He lies still under the covers. His hands are palm-down, arms spread out slightly by his sides, elbows straight. If he opens his eyes he will see the blanket-covered lump of his feet, left toe pointing more noticeably upward than the right. He breathes in deeply and evenly, urging his muscles to relax.

He can feel his heartbeat in the back of his head, under his jaw. His fingers want to twitch.

No. Count to four. Breathe.

His eyes slit open against his will, the shadowy gray ceiling blurred through his lashes. A twinge in the muscle of his shoulder makes itself known; he arches and resettles, thinking _loose. Loose and relaxed._ He shuts his eyes again.

One of the dogs whuffs and snorts in its sleep. Will can still feel his heartbeat too fast and too strong in his chest.

This isn’t working. 

He sighs and kicks the blankets off. Exhaustion drags at his limbs but his mind is manic, out of control, flashing back and forth between horror and banality. The warmth of a girl’s blood over his hands. Whether he put away the takeout. An enormous black elk standing still in the forest, looking at him with fathomless eyes.

His hand creeps down, almost without permission, under his pajama bottoms.

Orgasms turn his brain off for a short time; the physical relaxation is just a bonus. It doesn’t always lull him to sleep but it usually makes the process significantly easier.

Cotton-covered elastic slides easily over his skin. He pushes the cloth halfway down his thighs and drags the blanket under him so he doesn’t dampen the sheets with sweat. He licks his palm and closes his eyes.

He thinks of:

an amorphous woman with beautiful skin, dark and buttery and smooth. He thinks of her legs, the soft give of her knee and the dimpling of the flesh at her thighs when he touches her, the way her calves will flex as she crosses her ankles behind his back. He thinks of the muscles under her stomach and the sensuous arch of her ribs, of

_a corpse slit sternum to navel, pink meat gaping wide_

her breasts, full and satisfying in his hands, of her nipples peaked and sensitive in his mouth, against his lips. He imagines her moan, the breathy

_rasp in her throat as he lets her suck in one last sip of air before tightening his grip around her neck, watching her face turn red then blue, her face bloat and eyes bulge_

plea she will give as he scores his teeth delicately across her areoles, sucking and flicking his tongue, imagines the salty-sweet taste of her skin and sweat. He bites at his own lip and jerks himself quick and ruthless, thumb smearing over the slit on every other stroke. His exhales, sharp bursts of air through his nostrils, are loud.

He thinks of the woman’s neck, long and slender, her head tipped back so that the tendons leading down to the secret shadow between her collarbones stand in stark relief. He thinks of her lips, full and plush, with short crescents at the corners that will crease when she smiles

 _like Dr. Lector’s_

and her hands, elegant and strong, nails short, with fingers that will bleach pale as they grip

_a girl’s throat to stop the wet pulse of arterial spray, but not before they are covered in gleaming red_

his biceps and run through his hair, scratching along his scalp. He stifles the soft noises that want to escape from his throat and brings his other hand up to pinch a nipple, scraping down his chest to cup and roll his balls. He is getting close.

He thinks of the woman smiling, although now her skin is lighter and her eyes curiously cold. He thinks of her kissing him – he licks his lips – and sinking her teeth in so that he can taste the copper tang of blood. He thinks of her face twisting

_as she is run through by antlers, exposed bone piercing through her back, her kidneys, her lungs, to emerge like gore-encrusted coral growths rising from her writhing body_

in ecstasy as he thrusts into her, hand tightening around his cock, and he is so close now, so close, he just needs one last push to come, so he thinks of 

_the back-and-forth movement of his jaw to worry away at meat, incisors digging in to rend and tear and finally work free a mouthful of tender flesh—_

_“Eat your breakfast, Will—“_

himself, the noises he is making, muffled moans and quiet wet sounds. 

He comes. 

He breathes. 

In the aftermath, he listens again to the pounding of his heart and carefully doesn’t think of anything at all. He keeps his eyes closed and fumbles for tissues to clean himself up with, leaving them scrunched and abandoned on his bedside dresser, on the floor. Then he wrinkles his nose slightly at the clamminess of his blanket and t-shirt where he sweated into them, pulls his pajama bottoms back over his hips, and settles in to sleep. 

If he dreams, he hopes that he won’t remember them. 


End file.
